


Relapse

by jarofbeees, Recourse



Series: Oncoviridae [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Addiction, F/F, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Referenced Angela/Moira, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 14:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14672663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarofbeees/pseuds/jarofbeees, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recourse/pseuds/Recourse
Summary: Five years after the end of Overwatch, Angela is struggling to cope at all. Scarred by her fight with Moira two years prior and looking for any kind of release, she heads to a bar in Egypt, and there finds an old acquaintance.





	Relapse

Angela grabbed at her headscarf and wound it tight. Tighter. As the pressure built on her throat, she felt an old familiar panic bubbling in the back of her mind, and she let go.

She looked at herself in the mirror, and hated where she was. Gasping for air in a hotel bathroom, trying anything to cover up her scars, and only bringing more to the surface. Mirrors had become difficult. Traveling to Egypt was a good excuse to keep her neck covered, but it always carried the risk of _this_ happening.

And why was she doing any of this? Her meeting was long concluded, and she was due at the Crisis Control site halfway across the country from Cairo. She needn’t go anywhere at all, could simply stay in this small room and sleep.

But she couldn’t sleep. She’d stabbed a needle into her arm four hours ago, to be alert enough to manage a meeting with the government bureaucrats who graciously allowed her to run her clinic. Moira’s solution ran through her veins, keeping her awake and infested with anxious thoughts. Angela only knew one way to drown them out.

She took a deep breath and left the room, rushing through the halls, down to the lobby, out to the street. She called an auto-cab, told it where she was going. The streets of Cairo flew by outside while she stared at the dashboard, taking in nothing, waiting for the dark edges around her vision to clear.

She fumbled in her pockets when the cab chimed, getting her card out and pressing it against the pad by the door. It opened, and then she was out, caught in a light desert rain, wind whipping her scarf around her face as she looked up at the neon sign. Ever since the regulations had softened post-Crisis, Egypt had filled up with bars just like this one, holes in the wall like every other country on Earth. Places to disappear for a night. Angela had made a habit of visiting such places, when she could. She never told her co-workers where she went. Too many questions would have followed.

She stepped into the bar, thankful for how dead it appeared. The bartender, the scattered patrons, didn’t really register as people in her mind. It was hard for her to register most people she met as people, at that point. Too many long years of statistics followed her every step.

Had Angela been anywhere else, trying Egyptian alcohol for the first time, she’d have looked for their best wine, savoured it, preferably with light conversation with a friend. Like Mei, or Lena. But the days of casual companionship were long behind her, and Crisis Control chewed through workers like a thresher. Even the people she liked were gone in months. She was the only one with nowhere to go to.

So she bought herself a Stella, and sat nursing it, waiting for it to dull Moira’s work.

She’d been there an hour or so, staring at the bar, draining two more beers, and letting old memories swirl, when the door opened and let in a small group of soldiers, desert camo uniforms standing out blatantly against the dark reds of the bar. Angela was about to look away when she got an intense surge of uneasy familiarity, the ghost of a long-forgotten past suddenly right in front of her.

“Ana?” she breathed to herself, staring at the tall soldier with the wadjet tattoo and neat black hair. The soldier stopped dead in her tracks, turning from her companions and focusing right on Angela.

Angela felt like a fool as soon as she got a better look. Ana would be much older by now, and this woman wasn’t yet out of her thirties. Yet the resemblance was so strong, and she had the same tattoo!

And then she remembered a party, years in the past, in Tokyo, and just as she was about to correct herself Fareeha said, “Angela?”

The soldiers behind her let out an _oooooh_ like a bunch of bratty kids, but before they could start bothering Fareeha she turned and gave them a quick hand signal, which sent them scuttling nervously to the end of the bar and ordering. “Sorry about that,” Fareeha said with a smile. “They think they’re still at base and don’t have to be polite.”

“It’s all right, you all just — caught me a bit off-guard,” Angela admitted as Fareeha took the seat next to her. “I thought I was seeing a ghost.”

“Oh, this?” Fareeha traced the symbol under her eye. “I got it done when...when I heard the news. God, it’s five years ago now, isn’t it?”

Angela nodded solemnly.

“Well.” Fareeha turned and ordered a beer from the bartender, then clinked her glass with Angela’s. “To Mom.”

“To my Captain.”

After a quick drink, Fareeha asked, “Been a long time since I saw you, either. What’s with the headscarf? Did you convert?”

Angela’s heart jumped. She nervously tugged the scarf back into place, stammering, “No, no, just, ah — trying to blend into the local color, make a good impression. I’m here on business.”

“You’re here in this seedy bar on business?” Fareeha said with a quirked eyebrow.

“I’m here in this seedy bar to _recover_ from business,” Angela clarified with a small smile.

Fareeha chuckled. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full these days. What’ve you done since Overwatch ended, anyway? It’s a hell of thing to run into you of all people on leave.”

“I could say the same,” Angela noted. “I’m working with Crisis Control. We just secured a contract with the Egyptian government to keep our South Nile operation running.”

“Good for you, and I really mean that,” Fareeha said with a sigh. “ _Someone_ ought to be doing good work now that Overwatch isn’t even pretending to anymore. Is it hard?”

Something caught in Angela’s throat. _Of course_ it was hard. For two long years since Moira’s attack, Crisis Control had been scrambling to maintain any of its contracts, as Oasis’ tendrils had snaked out across the world, snaring vulnerable populations into Moira’s grand design. Angela could advocate against it until she was blue in the face, but there was no money on her side, and everyone wanted the quick and easy solution.

But she had survived those two years by staying steady and keeping calm under pressure, so she tried to do that again. Only she was three beers in, and before she could manage to speak, Fareeha let out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?” she asked softly.

“I should have just stayed in Switzerland,” Angela sighed, defeated, leaning into the bar. “It’s been years since I had a good night’s rest. It feels like I can never sleep with everything I have to, to keep track of, and do.”

Fareeha chuffed. “Mom always did say you worked too hard.”

“She talked about me?”

Fareeha coughed nervously, eyes darting away. “Uh, yeah, um. She kept, well, doing that, after we met in Tokyo. Trying to hint at something, I guess. She loved teasing me.”

Angela looked at Fareeha, then — really looked at her — and felt something stir within her that she’d nearly forgotten existed. A light buzzing in her chest, an excitement that had felt far away for years. She wanted nothing more than to grab at it while she could.

“A-ha, about your _particular interest_?” Angela teased, lightly touching Fareeha’s arm.

Fareeha’s cheeks darkened, but she just let out a little laugh. “I look at _one_ pretty girl for an evening and Mom decides to make my life hell over it for months. She was despairing about finding me a good man up ‘till that point, then she switched gears without even stopping.”

“Sounds like Ana, all right.” Angela traced a line down Fareeha’s arm, drawing designs on the inside of her wrist. “She ever find you a nice girl?”

“Ah, um, no, I never really had the, the time.” Fareeha’s stammering was too cute. Hadn’t a woman ever hit on her before? Surely someone had noticed her beauty before Angela, but now she was just falling apart at the seams at the slightest bit of flirting. Angela liked it. It felt easy. Like she could really just...do this, if she wanted to, and she _did._

“Well, isn’t that a shame.” Angela’s fingers danced on top of Fareeha’s knuckles. Fareeha struggled for a moment, and just as she was about to open her mouth, Angela decided to make herself perfectly clear. “Fareeha, would you like to come back to my room?”

“Oh!” Fareeha gulped. “Oh, um, y-yes, I think that’d be...yeah.” She looked to Angela and their eyes connected, a spark flashing between them. Angela giggled, which only made Fareeha’s eyes wider.

Angela called for the bartender, paid both her own tab and Fareeha’s, and stood to leave. Fareeha kept staring at her until she cocked a hip and asked, “Well, aren’t you coming?”

Fareeha scrambled to get off her stool, tripping over her own feet and nearly bowling Angela right over, though she managed to hold her ground. Her soldier buddies at the other end of the bar looked up, sniggering to themselves, then falling silent as Angela smirked and met their gaze. She took Fareeha’s arm and walked past them, feeling radiant, powerful, in control. She hadn’t felt that way for so long, she’d forgotten how intoxicating it could be.

But as she left the bar and entered the cold desert night, the dust settled by the earlier rain, her thoughts turned back to Tokyo. To Moira. Did Moira feel this way, when she’d seduced Angela? But it had been Angela who’d made the first real move, and then she remembered how that night truly went, and her gut boiled over with arousal and disgust and some odd note of fear, and to shut it up she forced herself back into the moment by kissing Fareeha.

Fareeha seemed as surprised by that as anything else Angela had done that night, but she leaned into it quickly, kissing her back, hands going to Angela’s hips. When Angela pulled back, her heart had slowed a bit, and she felt like maybe she could maintain, tonight. Make this a good night for them both. She smiled slyly at Fareeha, then took her arm again, hailing for an auto-cab with the other.

“S-so, how long are you in town for?” Fareeha asked as the cab drove itself to the curb.

“Just tonight,” Angela answered, kissing her hand as they separated briefly to get in. “We’ll make the most of it.” And before Fareeha could talk again and make Angela think, she crawled into Fareeha’s lap and pressed her against the seats, even as the auto-cab told the passengers to please fasten their seatbelts. The ride flew by as Angela nibbled on Fareeha’s neck, hands grazing down her sides, Fareeha’s strong hands on her lower back keeping them close. It was indescribable, the feeling of finally touching someone so intimately after years of clinical cleaning being the closest Angela ever got to anyone. She wondered why she hadn’t done this before.

The autocab stopped, Angela crawling off Fareeha and leaving her side first, paying the cab on the way out. Fareeha took a moment, pushing back her hair and panting, before following Angela inside, clumsily hooking their arms together again as Angela entered the lobby. Angela led them up the stairs and to her room, taking her keycard from her pocket and pressing it to the pad beside the door. As soon as they’d stepped inside, Fareeha quickly started unlacing her boots while Angela calmly turned on the light above the bed, slipping out of her own shoes.

They paused for a moment and looked to each other, Fareeha standing in her socks and uniform, Angela in her headscarf and skirted suit, halfway to something neither of them had expected when they went out that night. Fareeha shifted from foot to foot, bottom lip caught in her teeth, eyes flitting up and down Angela’s body. Angela wondered if Fareeha had ever done this before, if she’d ever experienced something like this, if Angela was moving too fast. But the longer she stood there, the more doubts filled her mind, and she was so, so sick of doubt.

She broke the spell, walking up to Fareeha and taking her by the shoulders, bringing her down to her level to kiss her. Gently, Fareeha started to embrace her, but it felt too slow, and Angela didn’t want to stop now, slow down, or worst of all, _talk._ She grabbed Fareeha’s shirt and threw her down onto the bed, and from there on, it felt easy.

Fareeha quickly gave into Angela’s aggression, and Angela finally let go of her fear and exhaustion and just focused on Fareeha. Once Fareeha understood Angela’s intent, she was eager to help out, shedding her clothes quickly and pulling Angela in, gasping as she marked Fareeha’s hard, muscled body with hickeys. Angela felt intoxicated by more than the alcohol, more than adrenaline, the simple thrill of being in control, the taste of a woman’s skin in her mouth, the sound of Fareeha’s cries of pleasure as Angela serviced her.

When Fareeha didn’t seem to be able to take any more, lying spread-eagle on the bed with her chest rapidly rising and falling, Angela rose up on her knees and fell down beside her, putting an arm on Fareeha’s chest and sighing. Fareeha’s body was so warm against hers, slick with sweat, heart pounding like a drum against Angela’s palm.

Fareeha turned on her side, running a hand down Angela’s cheek, stopping at her scarf. She leaned in and kissed her, gently taking the end of the scarf and starting to unwind it. Angela froze, but she couldn’t bring herself to reach out and grab Fareeha’s wrist, stop her, because she didn’t want to talk, and so off it went, and Angela was bare.

She knew what Fareeha was seeing as her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. Angela had seen the scars from Moira’s attack in the mirror for two years, jagged lightning tracks spreading out from a circle in the center of her throat, where Moira’s hand had choked the life out of her. Fareeha traced one of the lines and Angela shook, closing her eyes and grinding her teeth. Fareeha quickly took her hand off, moving it back to Angela’s shoulder.

“We can stop,” she said softly, rubbing her thumb in a small circle on Angela’s collarbone.

Angela wanted to return to where she was a moment ago, when she was in control, when her past wasn’t constantly weighing her down, so she swallowed her fear and told her, “We don’t have to,” bringing her back in for a kiss. She threw off her jacket (at last), and Fareeha slowly undid the buttons on her blouse. Angela sat up for a minute, to shrug it off her shoulders, but she felt it catch on her spinal implant and froze, _again._ She breathed heavily, staring at the bed, trying to get back that energy, that moment she had before, but Fareeha had already noticed.

“Angela?” she whispered. Angela quickly tried to recover, struggling out of her blouse, but Fareeha no longer looked hungry, only concerned.

Angela swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “This isn’t how I—”

Fareeha pulled her into an embrace. Angela choked, willing herself to be strong, but then Fareeha stroked her back, right over the implant, and it reminded her of the last time she’d been touched, and the fact that she could only do any of this because of the same woman who’d put her hand around Angela’s throat, and all of it came spilling out of her at once in ragged sobs into Fareeha’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she gasped, trying to get herself back, but she hadn’t let herself cry in years, and there had been no one there to cry to, and every awful thing she’d ever felt since that last morning naked in Moira’s quarters was forcing itself out of the deep hole in herself she’d buried it in.

Eventually, her voice was raw, her eyes burned, and her muscles had given up holding her upright, her back aching as it so often did in those days. Fareeha laid her down gently on the covers, holding her with an arm around her waist.

Angela wiped at her eyes, gulping in air, trying to get her breath back. “Do you want to talk?” Fareeha asked, and Angela almost laughed at her.

“There’s too much,” Angela said, her voice wobbling. “I’m...I’m sorry, I can’t, not tonight.”

“Should I stay?”

Angela looked over at her, and saw her dark, beautiful eyes, and wondered how anyone could want to stay. She didn’t even feel like she wanted to stay, some days. She knew how dangerous it was for her to carry her pistol when she thought like that. But she couldn’t tell Fareeha any of that, or it wouldn’t stop, and it wasn’t right, to bring her in like this.

But she did manage one word.

“Please.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Angela woke, she found Fareeha sitting at the end of her bed, tugging on her boots. As she rose, Fareeha looked over her shoulder, and a look of deep pity crossed her face, and Angela wanted to cry all over again.

“Good morning,” Fareeha said after a moment too long, turning back to her boots and starting to lace them.

“Were you hoping I wouldn’t wake up before you left?” Angela said, bitterness the only defense coming to the front, foul memories of Moira clouding her head.

“No, I was going to wait until you woke up to leave, but I had to do something with my time. You’re a heavy sleeper.” Fareeha’s voice was low, struggling to maintain an even tone.

“Not usually,” Angela mumbled, embarrassed now, turning her head away. “Usually I can hardly sleep.”

Fareeha finished tying one boot, then started working on the other. Angela could hear her swallow before she spoke again.

“Do you ever talk to anyone else? From the old days?”

Angela shook her head, noted that Fareeha still wasn’t looking at her, and gave her a quiet “No.”

“No one?”

“I’m too busy. I’m not always easy to reach where CC sends me, either.”

“Well...if you want, you can talk to me. I can give you my number. If you want.” Fareeha sighed, tightening a final knot. “But, Angela…”

Angela bit her lip. Fareeha stood and faced her. “I think...I think it’d be better if we were just friends.”

Angela stared at the covers and nodded. “You’re probably right.” Who could be attracted to her now, anyway? With all the scars, inside and out, who could even start to love her?

“I think you need someone to talk to, and — and I can be that for you, if you want, but…”

“I wasn’t ready for this,” Angela spat out. “I know, all right? I know I — I shouldn’t have—”

“I’m not blaming you,” Fareeha urged, fidgeting nervously. “I just...I think it’s best if we don’t get that involved.”

“I know.” Angela took in a breath to steady herself. “I thought…I don’t know if I was thinking, actually.”

“I don’t know if I was, either,” Fareeha admitted. “But I’m thinking now.” She headed over to the nightstand, taking a pen from the drawer and writing down a number on the notepad. She leaned over and kissed Angela’s forehead, and Angela felt that urge come back, to grab her tight, never let her go, keep _someone_ here beside her. But she resisted, and tried to enjoy what little she had.

“I have to head back to base. Please, Angela...be well.”

“I’ll try,” Angela said, but it felt like a lie.

After Fareeha left, Angela set about recovering herself. Her shuttle would be arriving shortly, and she had to ready herself to go back to work. In an hour’s time, she’d showered and dressed, packed her life back into her suitcase, and stood staring at the number Fareeha had left her. She made her decision.

She tore out the page and crumpled it, throwing it in the trash on her way out. There were already parts of her past that she was physically forced to carry with her.

She wouldn’t add any more to the weight on her back.


End file.
